Metathesiophobia
by Lady Calliope
Summary: [Complete] From beginning to end, the history of a long and winding relationship. Tifa x Cid.
1. Tocophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.  
**Author's Note:** These will be moving forwards and backwards through time as well as POV, covering a series of moments rather than a linear storyline. They're snatches of a history.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part One: _Tocophobia_

-----------------------------------

He was there.

"You okay?"

She knew it was him before he even opened his mouth—no one else smelled of cigarette smoke and engine grease. Plus, those clunking boots weren't exactly the footwear of choice for sneaking around quietly.

"Yeah, I just needed some air."

Keep it casual. No sense in telling him the truth—who was she kidding? He probably already knew anyway. He was much more perceptive than most gave him credit for. Behind the gruff voice and "maim now, ask later" attitude was one of the most intelligent men she'd ever met. Not that she'd ever tell him that: he'd most likely find it an insult. She knew that, when it came to taking charge of a situation, his apathy towards playing leader was the result of something more than lethargy or impatience. It came from a deep-seated inclination to let someone like her handle things rather than be held responsible for the wrong decision.

He'd already suffered that mistake once.

"It's real fuckin' crowded in there."

Typical response. She found a kind of comfort in that. In the routine, in him—in the routine that became him. He'd been a commonenough presence for the past three years, but not until these last few months had he become an almost constant fixture in her daily life. And on the days that he didn't visit she had come to expect—and anticipate—the letters and packages he sent in his place.

"I never expected so many people to show."

That was the truth: the first bit of truth she felt she had spoken aloud all evening. The decision had been sudden, the planning haphazard at best, and despite her insistence that no one needed to break any dates to attend, every single person on the guest list had graced her doorway that evening.

At least, all the people that she had been able to send an invitation to, that is.

"Like any of 'em would miss this."

She smiled at that, glad that he couldn't see it, couldn't see the shadow that tainted the curve of her lips. For all the warmth and genuine gratitude she felt at the sight of so many people—so many friends and allies and once-upon-a-time enemies gathered together just for her—the absence of the one person who should have been there above all others cut her like lemon on steel. But she didn't want him, of all people, to see her melancholy on a night like this. She wanted to look brave, wanted to look like the warrior she used to feel like.

The wind picked up, a breeze caressing and lifting her hair from her neck momentarily. The last tinges of ice rode the gust, the breeze much cooler than the once-still air around her. Winter was fighting hard to stay this year, but the small seedlings of the white violets she had planted last year were already pushing their way through the soil. The battle was nearly over—for the time being, at least, spring was winning. Another chill whisper and she shivered, unconsciously wrapping an arm around her waist.

The seeds had been a gift from him, one of many that he'd sent to her during his travels as head of the Space Program. There were little bits of him strewn all about her home, and some even decorated the bar she lived on top of. She'd thought about moving and re-opening Seventh Heaven in Nibelheim, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. There were still too many ghosts and hopes holding her in this walled city.

"They care for you, Tif. This is just one of their ways of showin' it."

"I know, and I'm thankful. I just—" She couldn't stop herself. He had a way of undoing her. "I just wish he was..."

Dammit. She'd sworn she wouldn't shed a tear tonight. She was supposed to be happy and laugh at the non-alcoholic drinks people mixed for her and "ooo" at the handcrafted cradle and rocker Rufus gave her. She knew people must think it odd, a soon-to-be mother seemingly unfazed by the absence of her lover and the child's father. But they didn't, and wouldn't, ask questions. People were careful to avoid questions—even Yuffie never let her mouth run that far. Little did they know their tactful silence only emphasized the empty space next to her in her bed, made her touch her lips in an effort to recall the feel of his mouth moving against hers.

"Stop it, Tif. Not tonight. Don't let the bastard ruin this for you, too."

Her lips quirked at the brusque words. He never coddled her, for which she was grateful. He was the only one that spoke about him around her, even if it was just to call him names. She was probably supposed to defend her lover's honor, but she couldn't summon the energy.

"You're right. I know." Reigning in her sniffling, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and ran her hand through her hair a few times to regain some composure. "How do I look?"

"Like you've been crying."

Typical. "Thanks. Thank you. I'd be a mess without you around."

She moved to hug him, but he sidestepped her with a fighter's grace. "You should stay out here for a bit, make you're eyes not so puffy. Don't want people askin' me what I did and blamin' me."

He brushed past and headed inside, down the stairs, back to the baby shower. Despite the fact that what she needed right now, more than anything, was physical contact, he hadn't so much as twitched to hug her. In fact, throughout their entire exchange, he hadn't touched her in the slightest. Thinking back over recent years, she realized something she hadn't noticed until now.

She couldn't remember what he felt like: he hadn't touched her in nearly four years.


	2. Erythrophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Two: _Erythrophobia_

-----------------------------------

She looks good in red.

Her curves like a pear covered all in silk—I've never seen her in a dress before. Tough skin but sweet and luscious once you capture her with your mouth. You suck, lick her bone dry. Can't you see? You're desiccating her, soldier.

She looks good in red.

Mouth panting, salt dripping in her eyes, checking vitals—everyone, even me. Her fingers linger at your pulse, a flickering caress. Hands slick with life, some hers and some not. Her skin is always bloody when you're in need. She hides her hands like shame when you stare too long at the flower girl.

"You look good in red."

Capillaries flood her cheeks as muscles tighten, loosen. I just told her what's in my eyes.

"He's blind if he's not seein' it. Don't waste your time."

Embrace or deny? Kiss or cuff? I don't know what I want her to do anymore than she does. _I'm too old for this_. But she just turns away into the crowd, leaving me to question these new thoughts.

I only told her what's in my eyes.


	3. Chirophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Three: _Chirophobia_

-----------------------------------

My radio isn't broken—it's barely a month old—but I needed an excuse to watch his hands work, to get lost in their grace.

------

Tiny white spots have slowly inched their way up his fingernails. I tell him it's calcium deprivation, but he still refuses the supplements. Secretly I'm glad: I don't want him to be perfect.

------

Every week he tied a fresh gardenia above the head of the crib. He said it was to dispel the smell of engine grease that lingered in her room after he put her to bed. But I knew better—after all, gardenias mean joy and loveliness. She was a wonder to him, precious and wide-eyed: a destination. When his face hovered over her, her tiny hands sought out his fingers as if by instinct.

He gave both of us so much more than flowers could say.

Back then everything was still so new: we were all beginners. Like my child, we were learning each day, learning how to live in an unknown and open world.

------

I'm nearly thrown on my ass, but a sure and callused hand on my lower back steadies me. Calmly smoking his cigarette, he navigates the airship through the turbulence with an ease I envy. Only later do I realize he hasn't withdrawn his touch, not until we land and the others join us on the bridge.

Suddenly I feel cold and heavy, like a stone.


	4. Atelophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Four: _Atelophobia_

-----------------------------------

Stunned silence.

"So you _live_ in Midgar now? Not just visiting?"

"Yep. All the Space Program research and plannin' facilities are here."

"The Space Program? I didn't know they'd started that up again!"

"Surprise." He downed another shot. "Shinra needed someone to run things, and apparently I'm their man."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Hell, me neither."

"Well, congratulations! No one deserves it more." A snort from him, a pause. "What about Shera? Is she here, too, or—"

"No. She's back in Rocket Town."

"But I thought she—"

"We're over, her and me." There was no bitterness in his voice, only a sigh, a release. "She can do whatever she damn well pleases now."

"Oh. I see." Beat. "But I thought the two of you were getting married?"

"So did she. But after everything that happened…I just—I'm no good for her."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"Means she deserves someone more…nicer, less…me."

"Because you weren't nice to her?"

A spark of irritation in his face, but if it was directed at her or someone else she didn't know. "Not that. It's—she could never get over the guilt, over that damn rocket thing. Everything was always her fault. She never blamed me for nothin'."

"And that was a bad thing?"

"Hell, yeah! It was like she thought I couldn't do nothin' wrong. Like I was perfect, like some sort of, of…"

"Like some sort of idol?"

"Yeah, like I—"

"Like you always knew the answers and everything you did was right, even if it was wrong? Because she was afraid to be wrong about you?"

He stared at her. "Nail on the head." Another shot. "I take it you know a little about this?"

"More than a little."

He paused to refill his glass. "So do you ever hear from him?"

Ruby eyes tightened: a line had been crossed. He thought she wasn't going to answer. "…No. About him. But not from him." He'd hit a light switch and her face went out.

"Shit, Tif, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine. Really." A furtive glance at the clock, anything to get this away from her. "But I need to close up now, so I guess you—"

He'd done it. Time to retreat. "I get you. Here, keep the change." It wasn't a large tip that screamed pity, but it wasn't a small one that whispered indifference and platitude, either.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"You're a good bartender." He pulled on his jacket, opened the door with his back. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The laughter of the bell above the door pealed in the silence he left. And for the first time in a long time, her mind glowed with ideas other than how to pass the days of waiting.


	5. Cyanophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Five: _Cyanophobia_

-----------------------------------

Fierce, proud. His eyes looked crafted from hand-blown glass. A perfect blue.

"The name's Cid Highwind."

_Of course it is._ She could feel it: the sky in his soul, endless and turbulent.


	6. Phasmophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Six: _Phasmophobia_

-----------------------------------

Something terrible had happened. She knew it the minute the girl walked into her bar at five minutes to closing.

"What did you do this time?"

Feigned offense. "You impugn my honor as a ninja of Wutai!" A raised eyebrow in response. "Can't a girl just drop by to say hello to her best friend?"

"Not with that smile on your face." Yuffie looked just like she had right before running off with all the group's materia years ago. _Oh no…she didn't! _"Who'd you steal from? What'd you take?"

"What makes you think I was the one who stole something?" That mischievous grin had returned: the one that foretold nothing but trouble for everyone else. "What if something's been stolen from _me_?"

Ruby eyes rolled towards the heavens. "Right. Like anyone could steal something from _you_."

"He did!"

_He? Interesting…_

"Okay, I'll bite. What did _he_ steal?"

A pause ensued—obviously for what the shorter of the two thought was dramatic effect. Then with a great sigh: "My heart!"

_What?! _"What?!"

"You heard me! My heart."

"Are you drunk?"

An irritable huff. "Why is this so hard for you to believe? I'm in love!"

"Because the only thing I've ever seen you fall in love with is treasure." Only half-joking, really.

"Tifa!"

She was getting genuinely distraught at this point, so the bartender decided to take the high road. "What's he done that's got you in such a good mood?"

"Nothing special. He's just…him!" Certainly her distress had passed her by: her eyes were practically glowing. "Tall, dark, mysterious, all-business kind of guy. He doesn't smile much, laughs even less. Dresses in red, totally obsessed with guns—"

"—And this makes him so perfect for you because why, again?" This man sounded an awful lot like a tormented gunfighter they both knew, and Yuffie seemed to have as much in common with him as Tifa did with Sephiroth. "What could you, of all people, possibly see in a guy like that?"

Her companion didn't answer for several moments. But what she initially took for speechlessness at her words of wisdom turned out to be one of her friend's rare contemplative silences.

"He balances me." A pause. "When…when he smiles at me or laughs at some stupid joke I've made it's like…it's one more ghost he's let go of and left behind. He's hates artificial stuff so he doesn't expect me to be anything other than myself. When I'm with him…it's not because he needs me for something. It's because he _wants_ me around."

Now it was her turn to taste silence on her tongue. "Wow, well…wow." She smiled. "You've really grown up a lot, haven't you?" Her face faltered just so slightly. "I'm sorry I haven't noticed 'til now." _Too busy looking at the way things were_.

She shrugged in response. "Maybe. I don't know. Things just kind of fall into place when he's around."

"Sounds like it."

"I mean, that's what it's like for you when Cloud's here, right? Sometimes, things are just so…complicatedly simple."

"Yeah, kind of." Her smile slipped again. "At least, they _were_ when he was around…"

"He's not back from that delivery job?"

"Not yet."

"Don't worry, he's fine. Some old lady probably lost her cat up a tree somewhere. He'll be home soon."

"I know."

There were storm clouds gathering in those ruby eyes. With more perception that most gave her credit for the ninja decided her friend needed some time alone more than she needed a friend to lean on. Those were spiraling thoughts creeping in on her. "Look, I've got to run. But I'll stop by again later this week, okay?"

"What?" Head shake. "Oh, right. Of course. Thanks for visiting." She tried to smile at her again—rather weakly, Yuffie noticed.

"No problem." She hopped off the bar stool. Before turning the handle she looked back a last time. "He'll be home in a few days, Tif. He always comes back." The bell tinkled in the quiet after the door creaked closed.

"_He balances me."_

Yuffie was wrong. If anything she was always out of balance around Cloud. He never did anything in particular that warranted the feeling, but every time he was near she spent all her energy attending to him and his past and fighting off his ghosts for him.

She was beginning to think that, maybe, he kept his ghosts around for a different reason: he _wanted_ their whispers, their cold breath in the night.

He specifically sought the company of ghosts.


	7. Decaphobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Seven: _Decaphobia_

-----------------------------------

Organization had always been one of his strong suits. Most of his once-comrades would never have guessed as much from his wrinkled shirts and perpetual five o'clock shadow, but his mind had been on other things in those days. Besides, they only had need of one leader and Cloud wouldn't have taken very warmly to a challenge for his position. He had decided where and when, and that's just the way it worked.

_Shit, don't start thinking about that bastard now. You'll never get this crap done if you do. _

Pencil poised, thoughts shoved aside, he began to write.

_Finalize the lease for apt. _(He'd been lucky to get it at such a good price, but the paperwork was turning out to be a real bitch).

_Call Rufus._ (See what the hell they wanted to do with the Space Program after all this time anyway.)

_Buy furniture._ (He was sick of using the same cardboard box as a table, footstool, and chair.)

_Buy food._ (Another thing no one would think just looking at him. Shera used to say he could easily have made a living as a chef if he weren't so obsessed with engines.)

_Take a long, hot bath._ (Torture was probably the only way he'd ever admit that such a womanly luxury was his favorite way to relax his tense muscles after a hard day in the shop. The bubbles were just for the smell.)

_Call Barrett._ (He could use a good drinking buddy at this point.)

_Drop by Shinra building._ (He'd been told he had a corner office somewhere in the reconstructed, skyscraping monstrosity.)

_Go get new things._ (He refused to write "go shopping." Shopping was something Shera did over a period of at least eight hours and many days of exchanges and returns. He was just going in for some suits and right back out. No ties, though—Rufus had finally conceded that much. As if it wasn't enough that he was forcing him to wear a suit to work.)

_Buy cigarettes._ (In fact, buy at least three cartons. He was going to need them.)

_Tifa._

That's all he could write—nothing more could physically come to mind after her name. He kept telling himself that the proximity in time of Cloud's disappearance and his own move to Midgar had nothing to do with one another. It was just coincidence that Shera had left him with nothing but a note nearly six months ago and he had only now accepted the Shinra job—the offer had been standing for several months before that. Everything was pure chance, nothing else.

It wasn't because the man who had always watched him warily whenever he came to visit Tifa in the past was gone. It wasn't because her unconscious song had been calling to him for three years now, pulling him back again and again to a city that should have held nothing for him but stale grief. It wasn't because he came here wanting something—anything—he'd never had.

He was simply an organized person who had pushed away the phantom wish that occupied his every waking thought until he got to the last item on his list. Until #10.

_Welcome to the city, old man. What the fuck are you doing?_


	8. Eosophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Eight: _Eosophobia_

-----------------------------------

Sunlight filtered through slatted shades, warm and dusty. A yawn escaped as a sluggish hand snuck out from the blankets, reaching and groping the space next to it. Fingers grasped only the cold emptiness of long-vacated sheets.

_Must be Tuesday already._ He always left on Tuesdays.

Bones cracked and ligaments stretched as pushed her hands towards the ceiling. The clock blared 8:03am in red digits. Her bar didn't open for another six hours. Countless weeks had passed since she'd slept so late, but she grinned as she recalled the reason for her lethargy. A slight ache between her thighs reminded her just how late he had kept her up that night. He was getting hungrier and hungrier for her these days.

In the beginning of things she used to dread this day, the one that took him away from her on business matters necessary to survival. Fear would creep into her pores after a day, a ceaseless worry that, for one reason or another, he wouldn't return to her. But he always came back. Often he'd arrive hours after she'd fallen asleep—she would walk downstairs the next morning to find him fetal on the couch, wound so tightly she'd wonder if he'd slept at all.

The fact that he preferred solitude to her warmth at such times wounded her slowly and sharply. But she never said anything. He had always kept her close but his demons closer still.

Settling back into the routine of one another usually took about a day after he came home: nothing was immediate or simple with him. Watching him reacquaint himself with their life often reminded her of the way wounded veterans would sometimes suddenly try to reach out with an arm only to remember that they'd lost it long ago—despite the physical reminders, every now and then they still felt nerve twitches in the phantom limb. He often had the same startled look in his eyes when confronted with the home he'd stayed in for nearly a year. Yet once a day had passed it was as if he'd never left in the first place: everything was soft smiles and secret skin once more.

But for that one day it always felt like the day they'd finally returned from their odyssey—broken, unsure, the ghost of a flower girl lingering between them.

Soon her sense detected the bitter, welcome aroma of coffee kept warm on the burner. She smiled at his thoughtfulness, his way of taking care of her even when he was on a delivery job. He was kinder than his serious exterior purported. As she pulled on a bathrobe—_his_, she could tell by the scent—she remembered his last words before she had fallen into a sated oblivion.

_"Good night, Tif. Rest well."_

He'd never bothered with articulating his simple concern for her before. But then, he'd never made her cry his name out so many times in one night, either. Perhaps the words had sprung from a sort of masculine pride at her weariness? In any case, they were sweet to her ears.

Stepping over the fourth step on the staircase—the edges on it always creaked horribly in protest—she breezed into the kitchen to find things in quite a state of disarray. Nothing from his breakfast was washed or put away and papers were strewn every which way around the table. _Why the hurry, Cloud? Sleep in a little too late?_ she smirked. She poured herself a cup of coffee and was pondering on what part of the mess to tackle first when she glanced at the calendar on the wall. Ceramic shrapnel sliced through her legs, but she hardly noticed the broken mug that had fallen from her hands.

Today wasn't Tuesday. She'd been in such a hazy afterglow she hadn't realized he'd only been home for two days. Her old fears started howling in their cages: they broke free after three days with no word.

He left her on a Sunday.


	9. Philemaphobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Nine: _Philemaphobia_

-----------------------------------

She tastes of raspberries and chocolate and sweat. Dawn would bring consequences but he surrenders without a thought or a fight. Eternity is in her eyes, a moment sweet like candy. He pushes her onto the bed and loses himself completely for the second time that night.

------

Where had he been going? He was supposed to be going somewhere important. _Rocket Town. Shera. Right. _To say he may not be returning after tomorrow's battle…

Another glance out the airship's window tightened his chest. They were sitting on a rock not too far away, fingers laced and heads leaning on shoulders, whispering words he couldn't hear. Everything looked so natural and easy, so comfortably intimate for them. He was a foreigner looking in at a strange and beautiful country, a place he wanted to call home but couldn't.

Lungs clenched along with fists. He had long ago divined why they had come together so quickly as a team, as heroes and comrades—and it had nothing to do with lofty aspirations or concern for the planet's future. They were prisoners. A chain held them fast and prevented any escape. Each of them had one and none knew how to break from it, how to loosen the invisible bonds that enslaved them to one another. He doubted if most even realized they were trapped.

He raised his eyes and two childhood friends kissed outside his ship. It struck him in the gut with the force of one of her best punches. He'd never been able to decipher the nature of his own fetters until that moment.

Suddenly he found himself wishing he wasn't so damn perceptive.

------

One look at her and he physically felt himself fall. He thought the ground would rise to meet his face any minute. Tiny, curled fingers wrapped around his thumb as two pairs of ruby eyes stared openly at him.

He glanced at the name printed on the doll-sized plastic ID bracelet around her soft wrist.

"Lani?"

"Lah-nee. It means sky."

Shocked, he nodded in approval, throat too tight to speak. Without words she passed her daughter to his trembling arms, knowing that the safest place in the world for her baby was between her heart and his.

"She's so damn…small."

"She'll grow strong." _If you're around to help her. _Her underlying words were plain to him even if she herself didn't know what she was saying. The birth certificate would not list his name under "father," but the child's name meant more to him than any official document. He kissed her pink forehead, marveling at the softness of new skin and the blonde of her hair, and decided then and there to be whatever this squirmy bundle needed him to be. He would run to the end of the universe to be with this girl—to be with both of them.

Handing her back to her exhausted mother, he realized that, for the first time in years, he knew with profound certainty where he had been and where he was going. The fact that the road was unmarked and unknown didn't bother him in the least. He'd get there eventually.


	10. Decidophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Ten: _Decidophobia_

-----------------------------------

Distance is a feeling, not a measurement. It's something perceived in closed ears and dismissive touches, in silences that have faded from comfortable to gaping. He never kissed her lips anymore when they were slick between the sheets, nor did he take the time to lazily explore her body as he once did. His sex had become needy and desperate, the opposite of his vacant eyes.

At first she thought she'd offended him somehow. She attempted to fill his growing restlessness with small gifts scattered throughout the house in places he frequented—a new wrench, his favorite liquor, fancy imported cigarettes. But every surprise only forced him further into himself, farther away from her.

When his late nights and early risings became his habit rather than the odd exception, she knew the breaking point was near. Shera admitted to being many things—overcompensating, a perfectionist, weak—but she was not a fool. She'd noticed the packages and letters going to and coming from Midgar, and she'd regarded their increasing frequency with curious, detached trepidation. After months of witnessing nearly non-stop communication with the city she finally admitted what she'd come to suspect.

He was in love with someone else.

She knew it like she knew the parts of a rocket's engine. The fact that he didn't seem to be aware of it made the pain even sharper. Her life had been pillaged, her most precious possession taken from her under cover of darkness and parcels. These days she couldn't even lay claim to his scorn or his anger—he wandered through the hours with his body on auto-pilot and his mind a hundred miles away. But the time for a decision had come and was nearly gone: he'd forced her into a corner.

"I'm leaving."

He looked up from the piles of gears, engine parts, and tools. She stood in his workshop doorway, the light from the kitchen behind her illuminating her edges like earthshine. Her eyes were dull coins, her arms crossed like shields.

"When're you comin' back?"

A small change, the edge of her lip rose slightly. Her smile scared him. "I don't know." Arms lowered as she turned away from him. "Bye, Cid. See you when I see you."

He didn't expect her to come back—not after the note she'd left him tucked between two apples in the fruit bowl. He didn't find it for a few days: he never ate any of the fruit, but she'd insisted on replenishing it every week in an attempt to offset at least one of his many bad habits. The note wasn't long, but he found himself staring at it for hours. He analyzed every loop and curve of her script. He'd never noticed before, but she had elegant handwriting.

_Cid—_

_You'd have done it to me soon enough. _

_I wanted to be one step ahead of you, just once. _

_Move forward. Be well. _

—_Shera_

For the first time since the failed rocket launch it seemed she had found fault with him. She had taken the lead, for once. He realized, much too late, that she'd changed while he had been busy looking everywhere but her. On reflection he decided it was the only good thing he'd done for her in all their years together: she'd learned the danger of putting humans on pedestals.

He was smart, but she was quicker and more practical. She'd seen through him before he even knew to look. She'd told him exactly what they'd both refused to acknowledge until that moment.

_Move forward. _

He knew it was directed at both of them. But there lay a fork in the road, and she'd left him with one pressing question.

Which way now?


	11. Ommatophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Eleven: _Ommatophobia_

-----------------------------------

Her eyes darted around the room like two terrified red fish, never settling on any one place, never even acknowledging me. Pink flesh darted out to wet her cracked lips, an odd kind of self-deprecating almost-smile on her face. She was shaking like a giant in the earth.

"So, I, uh…I just wanted you to know. In case you start cracking fat jokes and wonder why I'm not laughing."

We both know I think she's knock-your-breath-out stunning in all ways. A flush was creeping up her neck, threatening to swallow her whole. I attempted to hold her in place with my eyes, but she had chosen flight over fight before this conversation even began.

"I'll see you around. I think you…I think I need to sleep."

I refused to let her go like that, so scared she couldn't even meet my gaze. But I also couldn't tell her what I wanted her to hear. Not yet. Not right now.

"Go to bed, Tif. I'll be sleepin' on the couch if you need me."

She knew me better than to argue. I don't know what I expected from this night, from that promise—I was just certain I'd never be able to close my eyes in sleep knowing she was across town staring at the bare ceiling of her room, one hand on her belly.

Nonetheless, I can't say I wasn't warmer than I could ever remember with her tucked up against me on her lumpy, sloping couch. Her footsteps had been remarkably quiet for someone who had stumbled, half-awake, into my arms at 3AM. Soft breaths and deep sleep were the only explanations she gave me. I didn't mind.

"_Hey, you know…I'm pregnant. I'm gonna be a mom, Cid."_

Her words had been soft, disbelieving. And although I hadn't planned a contingency for something like this, nothing had really changed. Part of me wondered why I hadn't expected him to do this to her: he never saw past the present. But the kid's father was gone, and I couldn't tear myself away from the mother for all my self-doubts. There was only one option, and for once I didn't hesitate, didn't weigh the consequences.

Before I drifted off to oblivion, fingers stroking her hair, I wondered if the kid would have her eyes.


	12. Agoraphobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Twelve: _Agoraphobia_

-----------------------------------

Everything about the night so far had been expected—everything but the kiss. Demanding, soft, possessive lips molded her own in a way that she'd only dreamed about for countless years. Forest eyes held her in place as she withdrew, almost too stunned to realize what it all meant. Almost.

"Wh…what—"

"I've been wanting to do that since we were kids." He leaned forward again and her pulse leapt at the thought of his taste. But he didn't kiss her, just whispered so only she could hear above the crowd and tinkling glassware. "I'm sorry."

A hand grabbed her heart as panic set in. She was barely able to ask. "For what?"

"For not realizing sooner. For acting like that night outside the airship meant nothing. For you."

"For me?" Confusion replaced fear.

He smirked in a way that made her legs burn with the effort of standing. "You're stuck with me. I'm not letting go again."

Her lips ghosted his ear and it was his turn to attempt to control his heart rate. "I can live with that." She blew on his skin, light as a whisper, daring in the face of his conviction. "How about we continue this discussion at my place?" She'd never, not even when facing world destruction or death itself, been this bold in her life. Maybe it was the dress. But to say he was merely turned on by the change was a gross understatement.

They'd already broken polite social protocol in front of hundreds of titled people, so he made no attempt at decorum now. After once more releasing her from the crushing force of his lips he raised the corner of his mouth in a wicked grin. "Race you to the car. Winner gets to be on top."

In high heels she was at a distinct disadvantage, but she had never been one to back down from a challenge. "You're on." Besides, win or lose this competition, she had already won more than enough.

The pair made record time and managed to avoid knocking or jostling anyone on their way out. Though their escape was far from inconspicuous, those that knew them smiled into their champagne. A short, dark-haired girl wearing Wutaian robes smiled to herself before finishing her drink. "About damn time."

But as their car tore through the streets of Midgar she found herself asking one question over and over in her mind, unable to give in to the euphoria at the edge of her senses. "Cloud?"

"Tifa?"

She had to know, needed to know. "Why now? Why tonight?"

A self-satisfied look. "Like I was going to let any other guy near you in that dress. Red's a good color for you, but I'm not sure I want you wearing it again. In public, that is."

"Cloud." He hated admissions, but she refused to back down just because she didn't like making him uncomfortable. Had he ever seen her, really seen her, before now? His words made her recall what Cid had said to her earlier that night and she desperately didn't want the older man to be correct.

A brief silence. "Life is moving forward, right?"

"Right…" This didn't sound like the Cloud she knew.

"Before, I wanted everything to stay the same. There was always a part of me that seemed unstable, so I wanted everything I could control to stay steady. No changes, no surprises. But things kept changing and I was left standing still, off-balance. Trying to catch up, I guess."

"And now?"

"Now…everything's changed but nothing's really changed, you know? All the districts are rebuilt but there's different people living in them. You have your bar back but there's no AVALANCHE headquarters in it. Hell, even Shinra's back but instead of firing a huge canon they're throwing a fancy party to commemorate the occasion." He paused, trying to weave his thoughts. "You've been the one constant in my life—always there when I need you. But tonight, when you walked through those doors, I realized I was sick of standing still. If Shinra can move forward than I can, too." She barely heard his last whispered remark. "And some things need to change because they're no longer possible."

Well, that wasn't what she'd expected. She must have looked confused. "Does that make any sense?"

"Perfect sense." It was just more than she could ever remember him speaking at once. His last words bothered her for a reason she failed to pinpoint, but she rejected the idea of telling him—she would not rebuff him for semantic reasons. Finally, just when she was accepting that he would never look her way, she'd managed to catch his eye. Finally, she was getting everything she'd always known she'd wanted.

At the newly re-constructed Shinra building a cigarette butt dropped to the ground and was crushed under heel. Callused fingers loosened the tie around his neck and allowed the breeze to pull his focus from the receding tail lights. His piercing blue eyes aimlessly scanned the now empty, dark streets.

"I hate this city."


	13. Potophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Thirteen: _Potophobia_

-----------------------------------

_Goddammit! Why can't she be just a little less _Tifa?

His pulse would stop racing and he'd be able to unclench his fists if she were plain, if she smiled less, if her brain was just a bit slower. But beauty, laughter, and brains were as much a part of her as fighting gloves and quick reflexes. Besides, he wouldn't be so drawn to her if she was anything less than she was. At times like the present one, though, he wished she could at least have the decency to ignore the endless stream of hopeful glances coming from her customers at the bar.

"You know, Miss Lockheart, this is my favorite bar in the city. And I go to a lot of bars."

"Call me Tifa. The formality makes me sound old."

"All right. Tifa it is then." A grin from both.

From his usual table in the corner Cid was quickly coming to a conclusion that should have been obvious from day one: Tifa Lockheart was the most desirable woman any red-blooded male could ever hope to lay eyes on. Apparently every man in Midgar under the age of fifty agreed with him. Over the months, he'd been hard pressed not to notice the steady stream of male customers in Seventh Heaven—regulars like him were far from unusual.

But he had a privilege none of them ever could. Unlike the others, he knew the Tifa that emerged every night when she closed her bar: the bone-tired, worrywart of a woman who lived alone in a place meant for two. He knew she'd come to appreciate and—he hoped—look forward to the hours of conversation and banter he offered after closing time. She'd clean up, he'd cook a simple meal, and they'd sit at his usual table and talk with both words and silences. In the calm hours of the early morning they'd found an almost sacred space between them that would last until she yawned, he bid her goodnight, and they separated for another day. It was comfortable, it was routine, it was theirs.

It wasn't what he wanted.

"Can I get you another?"

"Whatever's your favorite."

"Well, my specialties—"

"Not your specialties. I want whatever it is you drink when it's just you."

"Who wants to know?" Playful.

A smile. "The guy who wants to make it for you after I take you out to dinner."

Electric eyes narrowed as he finished the rest of his double shot in one jerk of his head. This regular was too persistent for the pilot's liking.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"I am at that. Please don't say no—you have no idea how long it took me to get that line right."

Persistent _and _honest. This guy was downright dangerous. Still, Cid kept his seat. She'd never accepted any of these countless offers before and she had no reason he knew of to start now. But even so, should the pursuit continue, the man only needed to look over at the table just once so the new arrival could clearly see his fate reflected in a pair of hard cobalt eyes

"Normally I'd love to—"

"But?" A defeated smile was already in place. _Good. Here it comes._

"But I'm not available."

Pause. The man didn't seem too surprised by this. "Of course you aren't. I just figured I'd give it a shot. Couldn't hurt to try, right?"

"I'm sorry." Sincere and forever worried about the well being of others, even strangers. If only she was a little less Tifa!

"Don't be. I can still enjoy the pleasure of your company as my favorite bartender." A wistful tug of lips and he made to leave.

"Want one for the road?"

"No, it's time to leave with my tail between my legs like any respectable man would. Thanks, though."

"You're welcome. Be safe on those roads!"

As the door closed on the man's retreating back, Cid allowed himself a small, affectionate grin. _She always let's them down easy._ But that thought triggered the pain that lived in his chest as he faced the truth of the situation: she _always_ let them downEvery man that wasn't _him. _Lifting the glass—her glass—to his lips, he drained the last few drops that always remained at the bottom. It was the closest thing to a kiss he could ever hope to receive.

In a way, he empathized with that persistent customer. He could fantasize all he wanted that it was his own face she was thinking of when she turned them down with her kind words and apologetic smiles. But he knew she still saw all men in shades of green and blonde.

He knew that better than anyone.


	14. Haphephobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Fourteen: _Haphephobia_

-----------------------------------

"Truth." How many is that for him? Eight? Nine?

While trying to come up with a good truth to ask, I refill his shot glass—he's always been a vodka person at heart like me. Well, back when I could still drink, that is. His eyes seem to swim around the room a little, like he can't quite focus on one thing for more than a few seconds. Perhaps he's not holding out as long as I originally guessed he would.

Maybe it's time to ask—he did pick truth. And after all, should it prove embarrassing, I can blame my actions on the copious amounts of seltzer water I've been drinking, right? Somehow that sounds even worse when I put it in words. Still, here goes nothing.

"Why…why don't you ever touch me?"

Suddenly his pupils are much sharper than they have any right to be. "What?"

Why do I feel like I've just said one of the most dangerous things I could ever possibly say? "I'm asking why you never touch me anymore. You just…stopped. A few years ago. No hugs, no handshakes, hell, not even a slap on the shoulder after a good fight! I just want to know—"

"I can't answer that."

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes. "Can't or won't?"

"You're shitfaced, Tifa. You don't know what you're saying." Obviously, even though he's not as drunk as I thought, he's still not on the safe side of sober.

"I'm drinking water, remember? I know perfectly well what I'm saying!"

"No, you don't." He mutters the next so quietly I nearly miss it. "If you did you wouldn't ask me."

_What_? "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Vaguely I realize that my language is much more forceful and crass than I normally allow. I sound more like him.

He's stone silent and more guarded than I've ever seen him. Something in me softens a little at the look in his eyes: it almost looks like betrayal but that doesn't make any sense. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just…" Headless of consequence I reach across the table and take his hand. I don't know why I'm so intent on making him understand in this moment, but something tells me that if I don't finish what I started I'll have one less regular in my bar. "I miss you. It's like there's a whole side of you that I can't reach, that's gone where I can't follow."

His focus is on our hands. Since _this_ started I've never tried to bridge the physical gap. And just as I think I'm getting through to him—finally!—he tries to jerk his hand back. My combat reflexes have always been a touch faster, though.

"Let go, Tif." His voice is absolute winter.

"No!" Why can't he just _tell_ me?

"Why do you wanna know so damn bad?" He's almost shouting.

"Dammit, Cid, you know everything about me!" I grip his fingers harder. "You know I'm afraid of marionettes. You know it embarrasses me when I come out of a fight without so much as a scratch. You know Marlene was the first person to ever get me flowers. Hell, you're the only one besides my fucking doctor that knows I'm pregnant!" I hadn't meant to yell that last bit and my voice dips of its own accord. "Why? Why can't you do the same for me? You're the closest thing I have to a best friend these days and—"

He pulls away with such force it actually hurts my arm a little—I'm faster but he'll always be stronger. His face is anything but closed now: he's more furious than I ever thought him capable. I'd be terrified if I couldn't tell that the anger was directed internally and not at me. "You really want to know why, Tifa? You really want to know why I never touch you?" His voice is a hurricane now, uncontrollable and demanding.

"Because if I ever did I wouldn't be able to stop!" My eyes widen so quickly it stings. "Because if I so much as shake your hand I won't be able to pull away until all you could remember and scream was my name, until you forgot all about that _fucking bastard_ and let me have all of you!"

Absently I realize he's almost eloquent when he's in a rage. "What? But—"

"No!" He cuts me off like a blade. "You asked for the truth so here it is. _All_ of it!" He's never sneered at me before, ever. "The whole reason I agreed to head the Space Program was so I could live here. Shera left me because she figured out _this_—" he gestures between us—"before I even fucking bothered to look beyond the surface. I come here every night for you, so I can make sure no guy you don't want ever touches you. _Everything is you_!"

Out of breath, he sits panting like a man hanging to the edge of a cliff by one hand. I'm thinking a million things but only one comes out in a whisper. "When?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "Since that time on the airship when we dropped and I held you up with my hand." So specific and yet I recall every detail like a movie. "I didn't like the way it made me feel. Hell, it scared the shit out of me."

Now he sounds more like the gruff pilot I knew before I started this stupid game. How the hell do I respond to this? He knows damn well about Cloud and I! "Cid…I just…I don't know—"

"I know what you're going to say. Don't even bother." A snort. "I'm not stupid enough to think that I can stick around after…" he stops, sighs, and stands up. He's running. "I'll still visit sometimes. And I'll be there when the kid's born whether you want me there or not."

"Cid—"

"It's better this way, Tif." If ever there was someone trying to convince himself. "I've been acting a goddamned fool all this time. It's time I stop kidding myself."

As he gathers his coat and heads to the front entrance I briefly think of following him, kissing him, and telling him to stay, telling him he doesn't know me as well as he thinks.

"Be well." It sounds like a plea and I take a small step forward. Then he looks at me with those eyes like blown glass and I know I can't. I _want_ to kiss him, I _want_ to make him stay, but I don't know if I can follow that path to its conclusion beyond tonight.

My hand strays to my stomach.

I hear a biting wind, the click of the door, and then silence. My body seems to remember what a shredded heart feels like from a different time and a different leaving. I try to push away the pressing forces of similarity that assault and stifle. I'm too busy trying to understand my own unexpected uncertainty at the idea, the prospect of blonde hair.

And blue eyes.


	15. Phengophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Fifteen: _Phengophobia_

-----------------------------------

Her laugh melts with the sound of waves and his whole body feels full of air. He should look away from the sun glinting off her open-mouthed smile, turn his head so he can't see the water droplets possessively clinging to her skin and tracing paths along her topography. He shouldn't feel envious of the easy way she looks at the soldier(unleashing a splash on dry clothes), shouldn't feel his skin burn on contact with hers (every time she offers a hand to help him up in battle), shouldn't feel guilty when he remembers the woman waiting for him (he'll fight to look her in the eye even though she's the only he's ever touched).

He shouldn't feel walls closing in when wetness makes her shirt cling too tightly, her bare feet caked in sand and she throws her head back and spins on the beach of Costa del Sol almost as if she doesn't care that the world is going to end soon. He shouldn't feel _anything _when she asks him to join her with a grin in her voice.

He's always had problems when it comes to things he should and shouldn't do.

------

"So you and Shera are…"

I shake my head to confirm what he already knows.

"And you're moonin' over a lady who's moonin' over someone else?"

Nod.

"And no one, not even her, knows where the hell this someone else is?"

Shake. Wait, no, nod? Nod.

"And she's knocked up with this someone else's kid?"

A slow nod. It sounds even more hopeless out loud. "Any advice?"

"Yeah. Say 'ahh', Cid, 'cuz I'm buyin' you a round. A strong round."

"Marlene—"

"Is with Tifa tonight, and she'll thank me for stayin' out late. She loves these girl nights."

I blink and a shot glass filled with something smooth and brown is in front of me. It's only halfway to my mouth when Barrett, drinking buddy turned confidante, stops me. "Before we start, any chance of you tellin' me the lady's name?"

I narrow my eyes and down the drink, slamming the glass back on the bar to politely indicate I'd like another, please.

"I thought not."

We order a bottle and finish it off before the place closes. The next morning I can barely move without wanting to break something and my problem's no closer to being solved, but the air doesn't seem quite so heavy. I decide to take it as a sign of something good—though I don't really know what that something is.

_Time to greet the day, old man. It's one more chance you get not to fuck things up. _

------

There were nights when neither of us could sleep and we'd both sit in the chairs on the bridge and watch the stars. She'd tell me their stories and I'd listen while plotting out the next day's course. Eventually we'd both get tired but neither of us wanted to make the trek across cold metal to the ship's bunks. So we'd just stay in silence until we fell asleep reclining in the pilot and co-pilot chairs. I always made sure she fell asleep first—call me chivalrous, but it didn't feel right closing my eyes on her—and then I'd put my jacket over her before she could start to shiver from power-saving low temperatures. The next morning she'd never thank me for the warmth but she always handed me the jacket with a small, private smile before the rest of them came clamoring through the door.

Those nights it was easy to pretend we were the only two people left on the planet and we'd somehow managed to find each other despite the vastness. It was our own world: just us, the ship's breathing, and the glowing objects in space hundreds of light years away.


	16. Paralipophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Sixteen: _Paralipophobia_

-----------------------------------

I've never thought of myself as invincible. Even at my strongest I always knew it would take only one strike, one cut of steel through flesh, to prove how un-invincible I really am. But just because I've never considered myself to be invincible doesn't mean I haven't ever thought myself to be unrivaled at certain things. Swords. Motorcycles. Eating sweets.

Tifa.

I'd always known, somewhere in the back of my thick skull, that there was something different in the way she spoke to me, the way she patched me up. It wasn't until after Sephiroth that I realized what it was, and even longer before I realized I suffered from the same affliction. I thought that I'd never see a day when flowers didn't make me think of brown hair and a pink dress covered in blood, but, well, I've already proven that I can be proven wrong, right?

So it sort of hits me like an earthquake to open the door to the refurbished Seventh Heaven and feel the greeting literally die on my lips. At first I think I'm hallucinating or that it must be a trick of the light but underneath, somewhere deeper, I know it's real.

Tifa is backed up against the bar counter with Cid's hands running up her sides, her hands tangled in his hair, and they're kissing each other like it's the only way to breathe.

They notice me at the same moment I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor and I've never heard a louder silence. Then she whispers my name, I nod dumbly, and the next thing I know I'm being hugged hard enough to bruise a few ribs.

"I got your letter. Welcome back."

Not "Welcome Home." But I can't say I don't deserve it. She loved me for more years than I can count, but she's never been a masochist. I'd bet my life that the tears in her eyes now don't compare to the ones she probably tried to hold back when she realized I was gone. And I've been gone for nearly a year. Guilt clenches my gut for the umpteenth time since I started my journey back.

But before I can even begin to put a question to her I hear a high and loud wailing coming from upstairs. My subconscious knows exactly what kind of creature makes that sound but my conscious can't even acknowledge the possibility that there's a baby in this house.

"I'll get her. She'll want feedin' anway." I'd almost forgotten that Cid was standing there. His heavy tread fading up the stairs is the only sound besides the crying.

"Is that…"

"Yeah, it is." She smiles: a proud, shy smile that's entirely new to me. "Her name's Lani."

"Lani?" Lani Lockheart: I think it fits perfectly. But that brings me immediately to another question. "Is she…are you and he…?" I'm part confused and part scared for the answer.

I can hear the faintest intake of breath, like she's steeling herself. "No, you're the father." A pause. "But she's not yours."

"What?" How is that biologically possible? "I thought you said—"

"You fathered her, but she's not yours. She's mine." As my brain finally catches up with her words she rushes to finish before I can start. "Of course I'm not saying that you're not allowed near her! That's ridiculous. What I'm saying is that she's going to live here, with me. I'm going to raise her. But you can't live here with us."

Now that I understand I can feel the white heat of anger and indignation rising before I can even question it. Who is she to make all these decisions, these presumptions? "What! Why not? We have to be in this together! You can't keep me from her, she's as much mine as yours!"

"No, she's not! Biologically speaking, you're right, but beyond that you've got no claim!"

"No claim? I'm her father! I can't let you just raise her by yourself!" She doesn't seem to be getting the big picture here. "Damnit, Tif, I love you!"

"You weren't even here when she was born!" The fire in her eyes stops any further argument in my throat. "You weren't here when I was scared and throwing up and not knowing why! You weren't here when the strip turned blue! You weren't here for the ultrasounds or the baby shower! You weren't here when we painted the animals on the nursery walls! You weren't here!" She snaps her mouth shut and, by the way her eyes are moving, I can tell she's trying to find the right words to convey something even deeper to me.

"_You left_."

That sums it up rather well.

In the back of my mind I note that she used "we" in there somewhere. I never knew Cid could paint. "You're right, you're absolutely right. But these days biology counts for a lot more than you're giving. I'm within my rights, Tifa!"

"We're not married, Cloud!" She says it as if I were sitting in the corner wearing a dunce hat. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she inhales and exhales slowly, calming herself. I haven't seen her do that in years. "Why are you even arguing with me on this? You've never even talked to me about kids before and now—now you just walk back in the door after _leaving me _for a year and you're all up in arms about the baby you never even knew existed until this moment!"

It's a good question, one that I don't really know the answer to. Everything I come up with sounds hollow and cruel. Because it was my sperm that made the kid? Because I'm the one she's supposedly been in love with since she was young? Because I'm the one that left and sent her a note a year later telling her that I went off chasing another woman and oh, by the way, I still love you? I've never even thought about having children. It was my fault she'd been alone to begin with. Why was I fighting her on this, the one thing that seems like it's made her happy?

"She's still a little cranky. I'm gonna make her a bottle." His voice carries into the front room before I see him walk across the hallway to the kitchen. He holds a blanketed bundle in his arms like he's been doing it all his life.

Things are silent for a while before a long sigh escapes her. "Look, do you want to sit down and talk about this? I honestly hadn't considered the possibility that you'd want to play dad, but if you're really serious about it we can—"

"No."

"No? No what?"

I rub my hand over my face and realize that I haven't even put down my bag. "Do you mind if I sit? I've been riding all day and this thing isn't exactly light."

Something switches and she's suddenly flustered. "Yes! Shit, yeah, sorry! Have a seat. Throw your stuff wherever. Can I get you anything?"

"A stiff drink would be nice." I move to the hallway and turn into the living room. Nothing much has changed except for a few new knickknacks and pictures. The couch is just as comfortable as I remember.

"Coming right up."

As soon as she's gone my thoughts start whirring faster than I can keep up. Strangely, though, it's about things like finding a new place to live and getting to the bank and has nothing to do with the baby in the other room. My gut clenches a little at the thought of Cid, let alone anyone else, kissing her like I saw before. But beneath the jealously there's a much more powerful feeling of loss, like this was another journey that was doomed from the start. I don't feel sad or hurt so much as resigned and a little bit hypocritical.

I remember telling her the night I first kissed her that I had decided, that very evening, that I was tired of everything moving forward without me, tired of trying to keep everything the same. I realize how ludicrous, how unreasonable it was of me to expect things to stay the same here while I went around trying to change fate itself. She'd been standing still for me most of her life while I ran after my own ends.

I guess it was only a matter of time before she started moving in another direction, too.

"Here you go." A hand with a glass appears in front of me. Whiskey on the rocks. I smile a little—she always could remember someone's favorite drink.

"Thanks."

I'm about to ask why she hasn't made something for herself when Cid walks into the room carrying Lani with one hand and a steaming mug in the other. A small bottle is clutched in his hand by her tiny feet.

"Here. This is that herbal spicey crap. You were out of lemon." She smiles and takes the mug from him, blowing the steam off before taking a sip with eyes closed. Since when does Tifa drink tea? I glance over to see him settling into an armchair with the baby cradled along his left arm and the bottle in his right hand. He holds it up to her and she starts sucking at it, miniature hands coming up to slap softly against his larger one as gurgle noises fill the quiet.

I suddenly feel very out of place.

"Tifa, about Lani…" Her eyes snap to mine and panic flashes in them momentarily. "Don't worry. It's not that I don't…I just think you're right. I'm not ready for a kid. I don't know what all that was about. Just…surprised, I guess."

Relief floods her face and she smiles at me over the ceramic rim. "Would you be ready for something akin to uncle-like duties?"

"Anything except fatherhood, I'll take it." I can't help but stare at the couple in the armchair. He's wearing a look that I'd never expected to see on him: it's awe and pride and tenderness all in one. It's the exact look I imagine a father would give his newborn daughter.

She doesn't want me to be the father not because she thinks I can't handle it but because someone else had already applied for the job—whether he knew or not I'm not sure. I look back to Tifa and try to tell her I understand without saying it out loud. All I can do is raise my eyebrows ever so slightly and take a sip from my glass. I swear she's blushing behind that damn teacup.

I still have no idea what's going on between these two, but I know my place is not between them. The loss is still there, the pain is still there, but now there's something else there as well. Something that feels a little bigger, a little more like the peace I've never really known.

Lani laughs in that way that only babies can and I know I'm not the only one who has no rival when it comes to certain things.


	17. Epistolophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007.  
_-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Seventeen: _Epistolophobia_

-----------------------------------

_  
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I'm writing to let you know I'm coming home._

Sunday was her day of rest: no bar to look after, no customers to please, no expectations. It used to be that she would spend her precious free time doing things like finishing up a book, trying a few of the teas that Yuffie brought from Wutai, catching up on sleep, or just laying on the couch staring at the ceiling. When Cloud left, though, she began to dread Sundays more than Mondays. Every Sunday that passed was another week that he didn't come home, didn't write to tell her where he was or what the hell he thought he was doing leaving her by herself. And when a home test and a visit to the doctor confirmed her pregnancy it only served to reinforce the empty spaces in her life. After that, Sundays became nothing short of a chore.

_I know nothing can excuse what I've done. I left to chase after her, someone I could never find. _

She was not against having the baby. At first it terrified her more than any battle she'd ever fought in because, back then, if she made a mistake it would most likely only cost her own life. Now she had to think for two, which was something that was much more exhausting than she ever thought possible. She'd quickly learned that keeping a ready supply of PB&J ingredients on her nightstand was the only way to prevent morning sickness. To an outside observer it would probably look very comical to see her smack her alarm off only to reach an arm out for bread and a butter knife. But the food helped keep her stomach where it belonged—it was just one of many things she was starting to learn about carrying another person in her.

_If I could rationalize my thoughts I would, but you know I've never been good at thinking things through. For instance, I never thought I would miss you more than I ever missed her._

Cid had moved to Midgar before she'd even known for sure. With his arrival, her Sundays slowly started becoming bearable and even, though she wouldn't admit it at first, fun. He'd come over, she'd make them drinks and he'd wow her with his culinary skills. The first time he'd lit up her old gas stove and started throwing things in a skillet she'd burst out laughing at the sight: to think that the gruff and self-proclaimed "man's man" knew his way around a kitchen better than she provided no end of amusement. After a few weeks, though, she often woke up with mild to severe nausea and opted for strong tea instead of her usual vodka lime gimlet in the afternoon. He'd teased her at first about losing her edge but eventually added a kettle to the assortment of pots and pans he kept warm on the stove.

_I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just wanted to give you some small insight into why I left, why I didn't write before._

She told him on a Friday. It had been a busy night and she was exhausted both from the never ending stream of customers and the visit she had paid her doctor earlier in the day. Her plan had been to spill the beans, shove him out the door, and cry herself to sleep in a strange mixture of happiness and fear. His response of "I'll be sleepin' on the couch if you need me" was one of the last things she'd expected to hear—though looking back she couldn't say she was all that surprised. For all his rough skin and dirty fingernails he was oddly sensitive and often knew what she needed before she even bothered to consider. So, really, it was as natural as bird song that she came stumbling into the living room at 3AM, wriggled herself into his arms, and promptly fell back into a much sounder sleep. She'd never really bothered to question why he hadn't at least raised an eyebrow at her instead of silently shifting over to make room.

_I don't expect you to understand, either. I don't even understand it completely. _

The knowing and affectionate stares she'd receive from women at the market was something she'd grown accustomed to. And, though she'd nearly punched the first well-meaning lady out of instinct, the occasional stranger's hand on her belly became part of her routine as well. She soon realized that every mother she came across had her own piece of advice or story to tell her about their first baby. It was tiring and more than annoying at times, but somewhere inside herself she relished the attention that was being lavished on her for once not because she was a prize warrior but because she was a _woman,_ pure and simple. A woman with something special about her.

_On the last job I had—the one to Icicle Inn—I ran into that explorer, Holzoff. He was visiting for supplies. _

The first trimester had been excruciating and she didn't think she would have survived without peanut butter or Cid. Her body was stretching and shifting and becoming more alien to her by the day—and the nausea, headaches, and cramping didn't help, either. However, the second trimester was proving easier to handle than the first. She supposed it was because she was getting used to being pregnant, which was a good thing seeing as how she was finally starting to show. Carrying the baby high meant that she didn't explode outward like a balloon but the shape of the bulge was starting to become noticeable. She carried right on with her work and her bar, though, never one to let a little thing like pregnancy get in her way. There were nights when some of the more inebriated and rude patrons would comment on her weight gain but they quickly found a strong hand gripping their shoulders and a very irate pilot escorting them out of the establishment. He'd dust his hands off and walk back in, always capturing her eyes with his in a way that said she better not take anything like that to heart or he'd have to have a serious talk with her.

_Long story short, he told me something strange was happening at the Northern Crater. I told him to send me word if he found out more._

She often felt his cobalt eyes on her when she wasn't looking at him, knew that they followed her whenever she moved or left a room. She never let herself look back and meet them: there were too many unknowns and cliffs that lay in that direction. Absently she wondered if he could ever feel her eyes on him. If he did he never let on that he could. But then, neither did she. It was almost like dancing.

_I remembered what had happened to Sephiroth and thought that, maybe, just maybe, she wasn't completely gone. Holzoff sent me that letter._

Week twenty-six was upon her now and something else had started to make itself known far too often for her comfort. Her doctor had answered her shy question with a knowing smile: apparently the second trimester saw the return of a woman's baser instincts. Valiantly, she tried to ignore the nerves below her belly that would ignite when she came across him shirtless and working on various repairs around her house that she'd asked him to do. She'd push away the thoughts that accompanied her reaction to his smirks and smiles and teasing words. And she fought with all her might against the blush that would creep across her skin whenever she felt his eyes on her. All this and he never even had to touch her!

_I left as soon as I got it. I should have left a note or sent word or something, I know that, but I just…How could I have explained it in a note? It could have been my only chance. I had to find out. _

Not that he would. She'd found out just a few nights ago, directly from him, what would happen if he ever crossed that line that he'd set for himself. She remembered wanting to chase after him, wanting to break that barrier if only for a night. But for once her courage failed her and she looked to her brain to provide the excuse: after one night, what then? This was Cloud's baby, not Cid's! She couldn't just go around pregnant with one man's child while throwing herself wantonly at another. At the time she'd been convinced that she'd made the right decision despite the laceration she swore was paining her heart.

_She wasn't there, but I kept thinking if I just looked hard enough I'd find something somewhere. The Lifestream pools in all kinds of places, you know?_

But now a week had passed and she was beginning to realize that the hole Cid had helped to patch up in her chest had been ripped open wider than it ever had been before he arrived. After seeing him nearly every day for six and a half months, the prospect of another Sunday without the sound of clanging pans and his off-key whistling was enough to make her don her coat and gloves. If he wasn't going to come to her then she was sure as hell going to find him. Things between them weren't settled and she'd be damned if they were going to stay that way.

_I found nothing but what I already knew. It was a failed thing from the start, but you know I've never been smart like you._

Her hand was on the knob when a knock sounded right next to her ear. Startled so badly it shamed her, she opened the door to see a face she didn't recognize staring back at her.

_Anyway, that's what happened. I didn't plan on leaving. It's funny, because even when I was looking for her face, yours was all I could think about. _

"Miss Tifa Lockheart?"

_I don't expect things to be the same between us. I don't expect much, really. _

"Yes…?"

_All I want is to see your face, to hear your voice. I know I probably don't even deserve that because of her and this distance I've put between us, but it's the truth._

"I have a letter for you from Cloud Strife."

_I love you, whether you still want it or not._

------

**Author's Note: **I'm trying to get out of the habit of writing these, but I felt this chapter deserved one. I hope everyone understood that the parts in regular font are what's happening to Tifa and the italics are from Cloud's letter. Was that clear? Let me know if it wasn't.

This chapter contained quite a few personal things from me. The bit about the PB&J stuff on the nightstand is actually something that my mom did when she was pregnant with me (said I gave her the worst morning sickness!). Vodka lime gimlets are my favorite drink (and I think Miss Lockheart would enjoy them as well). And the bits about experienced mothers and strangers coming up to tell Tifa stories or pet her belly is all based on what happened to my cousin when she was pregnant. Kind of creepy, but mothers the world over have this strange sort of bond that supersedes the fact that they're strangers. A sisterhood of sorts, I guess?

Also, and I don't usually do this, but **please review** to tell me what you think of what I'm trying with this story. I'm very curious!

In conclusion, a big **thank you** to all who've read this far! I know this story's format and chronology are highly unusual and I really appreciate those who've stuck with me. :o)


	18. Ouranophobia

**Disclaimer:** Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

_Revised and edited January 7, 2007._  
-----------------------------------

**Metathesiophobia **or,** Moving Forward  
**By Lady Calliope

Part Eighteen: _Ouranophobia_

-----------------------------------

I thought nothing would be able to divert my attention from the way she licks the chocolate and raspberry from her fingertips like it's a sin. I knew buying her those candies was a stroke of brilliance that would benefit us both: she gets the sugar I know she's been craving lately and I get to watch her mouth as she sucks and laughs and quips across from me. I don't know how I stayed away from this place for nearly two weeks.

Then she has to go and spoil our moment.

"He's coming back." It's not a question—I don't have time to question.

"Apparently." She must have noticed my eyes because suddenly her full attention is on me. Her strategy of casually dropping the news during our first after-hours conversation in a week and a half has proven to be far from effective and she knows it. "I don't know when, exactly, but sometime soon, I think. Says he misses me." Her voice and eyes drop so low I imagine what she says next is for her own benefit, not mine. "Says he still loves me. Still wants me."

This can't be happening. "Of course he does. Because leavin' your ass high and dry while he goes off to chase after a dead girl is the perfect way to show he loves you. Sounds like a real fuckin' Prince Charming to me." I'm talking mad but underneath I'm scared as hell. "And now he writes you once, _once_, and that's all it takes for you to go fallin' back in his arms. And here I thought you prided yourself on bein' independent."

I'm going to loose her before I even get the chance to have her.

"Don't you dare, Cid Highwind!" She's furious and it's like sitting across from an open flame. "Don't you dare judge me! You know nothing about how I feel. You have no idea what these past months have been like!"

"Like hell I don't!" Everything's falling apart. "I know exactly what it's like to be left behind, what it's like to watch the one you want chasin' after someone else! Or did you forget about the little game we played last time I was here?" Bitterness tastes an awful lot like bile to me.

Her face says she hasn't forgotten. "No, of course I remember. But you can't expect—"

"Expect what? Expect someone as smart as you to realize that what he's offerin' ain't nothin' like love? That you're nothin' but his fallback girl? _That you're too good for him_? Because I did expect those things from you. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I did."

Her eyes are welling up in a way that cuts me far too deep. "This was a mistake. I never shoulda come back here." I was kidding myself to think that things could change, to think that she'd ever forget about him. Her head is in her hands and her shoulders are shaking and it's all I can do to keep from crushing her to me and never letting go. But I used to be a warrior, and I know defeat when it comes for me. "I'm sorry for everything. You won't see my stupid ass around here anymore."

I gather my jacket and stand. "Tell the baby…when it comes, tell the kid that I'll give it whatever it wants. If it wants the stars all you have to do is tell me. That's something I _can_ do without messin' up."

I try to walk away but one tug on the back of my jacket and I'm rooted to the spot. Her head leans against my back though she stays in the chair. Her grip tightens like she thinks I'm going to bolt any second. She doesn't know that her touch would make it impossible for me to move even if a bullet was coming right at me.

"Stay." It's so small I almost can't hear it. Then louder, more demanding. "Stay, Cid."

She doesn't—she can't—know what she's saying and it hurts like shrapnel under my skin. I make an attempt to walk forward, to escape her, but she pulls me back so fiercely I nearly trip.

"Please don't leave!" There's tears in her voice. "Stay with me. Stay."

I can feel my shoulders fall and suddenly it feels like I haven't slept in a year. Of all the things I want to tell her and shout at her and whisper to her only one comes out. "Why?"

There's nothing but breathing and for a moment my resolve to flee returns in full force. But when her words reach my ears it takes all my strength to stay standing.

"Because I want you to. Because you're the one I thought of when I got his letter. Because I'm nearly twenty-eight weeks pregnant and you've been with me every day of every week and even before that. Because my days with you are the only ones that feel complete. Because I already let you go once and it damn near killed me." Her voice has grown louder with each thing I never thought I'd hear and suddenly she's standing and her arms are around me, pulling me back against her front. "Because I want you, Cid. And I want you to stay with me."

Breathing has definitely become a conscious effort at this point. "Do you have any idea what you're askin', Tif? What'll happen if I don't leave right now?"

If possible she presses into me even harder and the feel of her completely flush against my back drains the blood from all my extremities but one. Her response comes out in something that sounds too much like a moan for me to think straight.

"Yes." Her breath ghosts across my ear. "And I've never been patient."

My lips are on hers before either of us can breathe and nothing has ever felt more physically, unexplainably right. She tastes like raspberry and sweat after a hard night's work. Her hands claps behind my neck and mine are running down her back and she's arching into me and the door couldn't be further from my mind.

We attempt to make it up the stairs to the bed proper but quickly realize that the couch is the farthest we're going to be able to get. Shirts are on the floor before I can blink and I swiftly remove her bra to save both of us the trouble. We stumble onto the lumpy cushions that have served as my bed more than once and it isn't until my perusal of her body with my hands and eyes that I register one important oversight. It takes a few pants and gulps of air before I'm able to even form a sentence.

"Can you…" I lick my lips and force the question that may prevent one of the best things that's ever happened to me. "Will this hurt the kid?"

Her smirk combined with her eyes is mischievous and breathtaking all at once. "No, the baby will be fine. Which is more than I can say for you if you don't shut up and keep going."

Much as I'd love to oblige there's still one more question. "How? I mean, what's…best for you?" Never let it be said that my mother didn't raise a gentleman.

"Why don't I just show you?" And before I can even figure out what she's doing she's flipped us. She's on top of me and her hands are everywhere and I can't get enough of her and somewhere in there she's removed her skirt and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. A light sheen of sweat covers her skin and the small bulge of her stomach looks it's glowing with the rest of her. I help her shed my own pants and have to close my eyes at the feel of her rubbing against me. She leans down and takes my mouth like she's claiming it and her hair falls around us and tickles my chest and it's the most difficult challenge I've ever faced to not cry like a baby at what she's doing to me.

Suddenly I feel her hands on me and with one quick motion she takes me in and nothing has ever felt this good. She rides me at a pace that has us both panting with the effort and as she arches her back her swollen breasts and stomach are thrust forward and I sit up as much as I can so my hands and mouth can worship her. Her hair curtains me as she leans her forehead against the top of my head and her nails are digging into my shoulders and her legs have wrapped around my back and everything fits so perfectly it makes me wonder if fate actually does exist.

She trembles and murmurs my name over and over as I find my release on the ebb of hers. We're breathing hard enough to fog up a mirror and take our fill of each other's lips before she slides off me and stands. When she extends her hand to me with that twinkle in her eye from earlier I realize that we're not finished yet. Naked, she leads me up the stairs to her bedroom and my eyes can't get enough of her confidence and her skin. I remember the countless times I've been in here before to put her to bed after too much drink or exhaustion had taken over. Absently I wonder if this night would have come sooner if I hadn't made sure she'd already been asleep all those times.

I pull her on top of me and this time everything's slower. When our lips and tongues meet it's clear that we're trying to tell each other something without words and that's fine by me because I've never been good with words anyway. Minutes pass in languorous exploration before I spy an open letter on her nightstand and old fears replace the warmth in my stomach like a cold stone.

"Tifa."

She stops and her eyes are irritated until she sees where my focus has drifted. "Don't worry about him. Nothing's going to change when he gets back."

I force my eyes to hers. "Nothin'? You were only in love with the shit your whole life, Tifa. That baby is his. Don't tell me that's not nothin'."

"You're right that he's the father." She closes my eyelids and I feel butterfly soft kisses on each. "But this baby's not his. And neither am I. He forfeited that right when he left."

I open my eyes to stare into hers. I don't know if I understand her full meaning completely, but what I do comprehend is enough for me. "I'll try to stay the hell out of your way, then. But if he starts pushin'—"

"Then I'll start shovin' right back." She presses her lips to mine like a ghost. "I know what I want and I don't back down. I've fought too hard for this."

"You've fought too hard for this?" A laugh escapes me and it's the first time in a long time I've been able to so freely find the humor in something. "And here I thought I was the one doin' all the fightin'."

"You and me both."

Then our bodies remember why we're there and we spend the next few hours filling in all the tears and gaps and cracks we've been living with for so long. Things aren't flawless and there's more than one laugh between us as we try to figure out how we fit together in every sense. There's more than a few jagged edges and mismatched corners but neither of us is interested in perfection.

And through everything, somehow, after all these years of stumbling blind down paths I couldn't see, I feel like I've finally found the road home.


	19. Author's Afterword

**_Afterword_ **

Before I begin I just wanted to say that this is, obviously, not another chapter of the story. This was made for my own benefit and I thought that, just maybe, some of you out there might be curious as to what each of the phobias listed in this fic were exactly. So without further ado I present to you "The List" starting with the story's title and then each consecutive chapter.

_Metathesiophobia_ - Fear of changes.  
_Tocophobia_ - Fear of pregnancy or childbirth.  
_Erythrophobia_ - Fear of blushing or the color red.  
_Chirophobia_ - Fear of hands.  
_Atelophobia_ - Fear of imperfection.  
_Cyanophobia_ - Fear of the color blue.  
_Phasmophobia_ - Fear of ghosts.  
_Decaphobia_ - Fear of the number ten.  
_Eosophobia_ - Fear of dawn.  
_Philemaphobia_ - Fear of kissing.  
_Decidophobia_ - Fear of making decisions.  
_Ommatophobia_ - Fear of eyes.  
_Agoraphobia_ - Fear of crowds or uncontrolled social conditions.  
_Potophobia_ - Fear of alcohol.  
_Haphephobia_ - Fear of being touched.  
_Phengophobia_ - Fear of sunshine.  
_Paralipophobia_ - Fear of neglecting duty or responsibility.  
_Epistolophobia_ - Fear of writing letters.  
_Ouranophobia_ - Fear of heaven.

All definitions were taken from _"The Alphabetical Phobia List"_ -- http// www. aboutphobias. com / phobialist DOT html

Again, **thank you to all who've read this over the months**! I appreciate it more than I can say. :0)

And if you want to have some sway over where I focus my writing next, take a look at my **profile** for a list of possible future fics I've conjured up and tell me which ones you're interested in, if any. Please note I'm not asking for requests, though!

**xoxo,  
calliope  
**01.01.07


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